


A Practical Issue

by abigail89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hogwarts Era, Romance, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-03
Updated: 2008-12-03
Packaged: 2018-10-26 14:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10788147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: Minerva McGonagall finds a way to protect Harry even more.





	A Practical Issue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** This fic was nearly 10 months in the writing. Way back in February 2005, [](http://shocolate.livejournal.com/profile)[**shocolate**](http://shocolate.livejournal.com/) wrote me the brilliant ["A Feminist Issue"](http://www.livejournal.com/users/shocolate/144323.html) Then she wrote ["Telling Ron"](http://www.livejournal.com/users/shocolate/148920.html#cutid1). And of course, I was inspired, not only by the fics but by our discussion of relationships between older women and younger men. This is a follow-up to _Feminist Issue_ , but it goes in a completely different direction from "Telling Ron." I fell in love with Minerva McGonagall during these 10 months, and if you adore her like I do, you can join the comm [](http://community.livejournal.com/quinquatrus/profile)[**quinquatrus**](http://community.livejournal.com/quinquatrus/).
> 
> Beta’ed by the lovely and dear [](http://magicofisis.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://magicofisis.livejournal.com/)**magicofisis** who kept my male pronouns in check and held my hand through the many months.

  
Author's notes:

WARNING:  Sex between a student and a teacher, and hint of a threesome.  If this ain't your cuppa, then make like a Python and run away!

 

*~* 

* * *

*~*  
  
Ron looked blearily over at Harry’s four-poster.  
  
Empty again.  
  
He reached over to check the time on the ancient wind-up clock. Five-ten. In the morning. And Harry’s bed was empty. Again.  
  
His sleep-clouded brain cleared instantly as anger heated his blood. _Sixth time this term. Where the fuck IS he?_ Gripping the cool sheets, Ron tried to remember anything about the conversation he had with Harry last night right before his bespectacled mate left the common room.  
  
 _“Interested in another match?” Ron asked as Harry stood, looking indecisive and nervous.  
  
“Nah,” he replied, “ I – I need to go.”  
  
“Go?” Ron countered, incredulous. “It’s after ten on a Saturday night.”  
  
“Oh, well, yeah, it is. But I have to go meet someone.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Uh…well, I can’t really say right now. But—“  
  
“Who is she?”  
  
“She?” Harry’s voice cracked and rose a notch. “Oh, it’s nothing like that. It’s just I have to meet someone for a, uh, a meeting.”   
  
Ron’s face slid into a look of abject despondency.   
  
“C’mere.” Harry took Ron by the forearm and dragged him towards the portrait hole. “Hey,” he said quietly, “It’s not what you think. Really.” Harry tried to catch Ron’s eyes, which were staring directly at the worn carpet. “Look, I just have to do this, and I’ll come back in a while.” He paused. “I will.”   
  
“Promise?” Ron suddenly cut his eyes up to meet Harry’s. They blazed clear, icy blue. “Because you’ve left me hanging before.”  
  
“Before---oh, that. That was something that…it was Order stuff.” Harry dropped his voice to a bare whisper. “Like this is. I’m sorry, but I can’t say what.” He stepped closer to Ron so that their legs were intertwined. “I’ll try to get back as soon as I can.”  
  
“When is this going to end, Harry?” Ron hissed, squeezing the other boy’s hand.  
  
“When Voldemort dies.” Harry suddenly stepped away and rushed out of the door.  
  
Ron looked at the hand that had just held Harry’s; it curled into a fist._  
  
“Bugger,” Ron whispered angrily, pounding a sheet-filled fist into the mattress.  
  
The door to the dorm opened with a hint of a squeak. Ron froze. The door closed again, and the air literally rippled with the body heat of a human crossing the room. He knew it had to be Harry under his Invisibility Cloak. Ron peaked through the slit in the curtains on the side facing Harry’s bed, which twitched like the blink of an eye. It moved imperceptive once again, and then was still, as if someone heaved a sigh.  
  
And Ron sighed, too.  
  
*~*  
  
Harry exhaled slowly and carefully, hoping he had not disturbed anyone, especially Ron. But Ron was most likely still dead to the world at this hour, and at that moment, terribly grateful for his mate’s love for sleeping heavily. He slowly removed his robes and shoes, placing them at the foot of his bed; he wriggled out of his trousers and jumper and carefully let them slide down the side of his bed, opposite Ron’s. He took off his glasses and put them on the small shelf above the headboard. His wand went under the pillow, and his head followed. As he stretched his legs and arms and settled into the bedding, he smiled faintly, his mind still humming with the activities of the night.  
  
 _“Why are you here?” Minerva McGonagall asked, as Harry snuggled next to her. “You don’t have to do this.”  
  
He laughed quietly as her fingers fluttered gently through his hair. “Who says I don’t?” The arm draped about her naked waist tugged her closer.  
  
“I do,” Minerva said in a practical tone. “The protection needs to be sealed just once.” She paused, loving the feel of the silky, unruly strands tickling her cheek. “Not that I don’t enjoy your company. And it has certainly helped to improve your performance this year.”  
  
“In more ways than one,” he laughed. “I think I’ve done more work this term than all six years combined. Maybe I should consider seeing you more often, especially if it will help my marks.”  
  
“You have. I’m quite proud of you.” She rolled over to face him, and sighed. “But Harry, you cannot date me, which…” she held up a slightly crooked finger as the protest formed in his eyes, “is what is happening. I’m sorry that you cannot have relationships with others; I did not know this would be the unfortunate side of the protection charm when I offered it as an option.”  
  
Harry remained silent. “It’s okay. I mean, how bad could it be if you get to shag your school’s headmistress?”  
  
“You forget yourself, Mr. Potter.” Sternly.  
  
“Sorry, make love with you. Better?” He received an affectionate squeeze.   
  
“Hmm.  
  
“But,” he said, burying his face in the mass of gray hair, “I like being with you. I love being here, and having tea, and talking about magic. And it has improved my performance in school. And in bed,” he whispered, raising up to face her. Minerva laughed quietly, much to his delight. He traced a magical pattern on the high plane of her chest, making her shiver slightly. “I like hearing about my parents and what they did with the Order. I feel so good, so—comfortable here.”  
  
She smiled. “I am glad you feel that you feel at home here with me. But the point is that you eventually will have love with someone you can build a life with. You have much to give to someone as a partner. And…” she traced a similar pattern with her finger in the narrow valley of Harry’s chest, “you have become an accomplished lover.”  
  
“Really?” Harry gently rolled her onto her back, and slid into her. “Minerva--”  
  
“No more talking.”_  
  
*~*  
  
Harry moaned at the memory and slipped his hand into his boxers to grasp his rapidly hardening cock. It wasn’t that Minerva McGonagall was especially beautiful or had an extraordinary body. No, it was because he was comforted and liked—maybe loved—for who he was, not some image. She was easy to be with despite her public stern and practical demeanor—no games, no angst, no having to prove himself with her. And a part of him was secretly thrilled to see a side of her he doubted many people at Hogwarts had ever seen. Certainly no student had ever seen her with her hair down. Though nearly completely gray, her hair was thick and slightly wavy. In the firelight, it was silvery and shiny. No student had ever seen her smile wickedly as she told hilarious, sometime bawdy, stories about friends, former students, and colleagues. Very few truly appreciated her fierce sense of justice and passionate devotion to defeating evil. And most assuredly, no student had ever seen her arch her back in passion as a certain current student gently sucked on a pebbled nipple. He moaned inaudibly as he remembered her breathy one not more than a few hours before.  
  
Suddenly, the pale light of morning shattered Harry’s memories.   
  
“What is going on?”  
  
Harry didn’t think he’d ever lost an erection, or retrieved his wand, so fast. He blurrily made out red hair and a long, thin nose at the end of his wand. “Hey, it’s just me,” Ron said hastily.  
  
“Get in here.” Harry grabbed his best mate’s wrist and dragged him onto the mattress. He quickly closed the curtains and cast a silencing charm around the bed.  
  
As Harry finished arranging their space, Ron’s mind was jumbled. Had he seen Harry’s hand in his boxers? Were Harry’s reflexes that quick? What was he going to say now that he was sitting on Harry’s bed, with Harry—finally, and not make it sound like he was a jealous suitor? Which, he believed, he was.  
  
“So?” Harry hissed.   
  
Ron made fish faces and odd strangling noises, desperately searching for the right words. “Um,” he started. “Um, look. S-sorry I startled you.”  
  
“’s okay,” Harry mumbled. “Glad I didn’t hex you.”  
  
For a long moment, they sat on the bed, facing each other but not looking. Ron didn’t know quite what to say to him, not knowing if he should be pissed or worried or jealous.  
  
Finally, Harry spoke. “Look—Ron, I really need to get some sleep. It’s been sort of a long night, y’know?” He shifted to try to lie back under the covers.  
  
Suddenly, Ron didn’t know how or why he did it, but he did. He reached over and grabbed Harry by the back of the neck and pulled him close, so close that their noses bumped. Harry made to pull away, to rub his nose and even possibly glare at the cause, but Ron had other plans.  
  
“You kept me waiting,” he hissed, not caring that his nose throbbed slightly. “Again.”  
  
“I’m—“ Harry began, but could not complete the apology for the lips that smothered the words. They were rough and insistent; the morning stubble from Ron’s cheek grazed his barely-stubbled one like number ten sandpaper. The kiss was hot and hard, nothing like the whisper-soft ones Minerva had touched to his lips and face just an hour ago. It was needy. A low rumbling hum of satisfaction emerged from –Harry wasn’t quite sure from which of them, but it thrummed through his body like a ribbon of hot caramel. Ron deepened the kiss by running his tongue along the soft seam of Harry’s lips; Ron’s hand grasped the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the unruly length just like ---  
  
Harry’s eyes flew open at that instant. He pulled back, breaking the kiss, leaving Ron’s mouth hanging open.  
  
“Um, Ron…um, I can’t – I can’t do this,” Harry stammered, hating himself as he said the words.  
  
“Why not?” Ron’s voice was laced with surprise and fury. “Harry, what the bloody hell is going on?” Then his face dropped. “You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?” He straightened, and he wrapped his arms about his bare torso. “It’s not Order business, you’re shagging someone.”  
  
“Ron, no. God, it’s…it’s not like that—“  
  
“Don’t.” Ron held up a finger in Harry’s face. “Don’t explain. Don’t say another word to me. Ever.” He slid off the bed, ripping back the hangings and went to his bed, closing himself off behind red tapestry.  
  
Harry’s heart plummeted. How could he explain? What could he say? As he touched his fingertips to his still-tingling lips, he wondered when—if ever—he’d feel Ron’s lips again.   
  
*~*  
  
For the next week, Ron seethed. He stomped through the halls, snarling at anyone who stepped into his path. Students fled at the sight of his stormy face; upper years gave him wide berth. Hermione tried to confront him, to get him to talk about what was consuming him so completely, but even she was met with stony, bitter silence.  
  
But for Harry, for him Ron reserved his darkest looks. Not since fourth year had Ron felt such fury at the young man who was supposed to be his best mate and…and love. He scowled at Harry whenever he walked past in the dorm, in the hallways, in classes. He pointedly sat as far away from Harry at meals. No one in Gryffindor missed the obvious fact that Ron and Harry were feuding, though the feud was definitely coming from Ron’s end. Harry looked as though his world had crashed about him.  
  
“Just talk to him,” Hermione counseled when Harry came to her one evening.  
  
“I’ve told him what I can, Hermione,” he whinged. “He just won’t believe me. Besides, I can’t tell him, or anyone, everything.”  
  
She hesitated. Of course Harry knew things that really could not be shared with even those closest to him. They were part of the Order, but Harry was definitely on a higher level than even she. Intellectually, she knew and accepted that. Grudgingly.  
  
“This is so hard,” she said gently. “We want to be here to help you, but we can’t if you aren’t totally honest, and I know sometimes you can’t be,” she added hastily as Harry’s mouth worked furiously for a retort. “But you’re right. It’s our problem, not yours.” She took his hands in hers. “Sometimes the division between what you know and what we can’t know is too much for Ron to handle. I know I have a hard time, not because I’m out of the loop, but because I can’t help you.” Then, she looked at him, eyes filling with sad tears. “I can’t share your burdens.”  
  
She looked so earnest and so dejected, Harry could not help squeezing her hand tightly. Hermione suddenly threw her arms about him. Having gotten used to her spontaneous hugs, he held on to her like a lifeline.  
  
“Thank you,” he managed to say, after spitting out a hank of her hair. It was an enormous relief to know Hermione understood the difficult position he was in, even if that truth wasn’t quite the one she believed she wasn’t being told. True, there were _some_ things that he couldn’t tell them that were Order business. If he stretched the argument, he could possibly rationalize that having sex with their Head of House and Headmistress of Hogwarts to save his life was part of that secret Order business.   
  
The fact that he _enjoyed_ the sex was definitely a stretch.  
  
*~*  
  
Ron’s bad mood continued unabated for the better part of a week. During Advanced Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall called on him, catching him not paying attention to the lesson.  
  
“Mr. Weasley,” she said in her best professorial tone.  
  
Ron didn’t look up.  
  
“Mr. WEASLEY,” she bellowed.  
  
“WHAT?” he snapped back.  
  
The silence in the classroom was deafening. Even the Slytherins forgot to snicker.  
  
She walked over to Ron’s desk, where he sat glowering. “You will remain after class, Mr. Weasley,” she said in a low, deadly voice.   
  
Now the Slytherins did laugh, delighted that one of McGonagall’s own was apparently in deep trouble. Ron shot them a withering look, which they returned with silent jeers and rude hand gestures.  
  
Harry and Hermione exchanged dismayed looks.  
  
After class, Ron shuffled to the front of the room, where he was prepared to meet his doom. “Mr. Weasley, this surly attitude is most unbecoming in a student of your stature,” Minerva McGonagall began archly. “It simply will not do for you to bite my head off, nor those of any student whose only offence is that they have the misfortune of sharing the same air space with you.” Ron slumped onto the desk in front of her. “I have noticed that this—this anger has been with you for quite some time, and it has become very old. It must stop. Do I make myself clear?”  
  
Ron hung his head, knowing he had crossed a line. He worked his jaw, attempting to apologize, when she broke in.  
  
“Does this have to do with Harry in any way?” Her voice was soft.  
  
Before he could catch himself, he nodded, his face then blushing furiously.  
  
She remained silent, watching him closely.  
  
Finally, he mumbled, “I’m sorry I yelled at you in class. It was inexcusable. I’m—I’ve been feeling a bit out of sorts lately.”  
  
“That much is very clear, Ronald,” she said, struggling to sound stern, “but that is no excuse for your behaviour today. For your punishment, you will serve detention with me, and you will resolve your differences with Mr. Potter.”  
  
“But it’s his fault,” Ron exploded. “He’s lying to me about….” He lowered his voice. “This has nothing to do with keeping the secrets of the Order. It’s—it’s personal.”  
  
She pursed her lips, carefully watching Ron’s face. From her long years of teaching teenaged wizards, she could recognize the various signs of dejection and elation, trouble and serenity, hate and love. Ron Weasley was one teenaged wizard who wore all his emotions on his handsome, freckled face. She knew when he had just encountered Draco Malfoy, when Hermione Granger was giving him hell for not studying, when he and Harry Potter had shared a joke. His friendship with the Boy-Who-Lived was legendary—so much like that of two boys of long ago: James Potter and Sirius Black. Where one went, the other was not far behind; and mischief and mayhem followed them about like faithful dogs. Like those two Gryffindors, Harry and Ron were nearly inseparable, always laughing or talking Quidditch or teasing Hermione. And also like Harry’s father and godfather, some sort of mayhem usually followed, though to be fair, Minerva knew it was not always of their making. The dogs of war and the dogs of mischief were altogether different packs of beasts.  
  
But of late, now that she thought about it, the two had become more—quiet. She had supposed it had to do with the gathering storm facing all of them, Harry most especially. But over the past several weeks, she had seen them exchange small smiles, meaningful glances; they sat closer together on the double desk benches. Come to think of it, she thought that she had seen them touching more and with more meaning. Something had definitely changed between the two boys—no, young men. It was as if they had become—  
  
“You are dismissed, Mr. Weasley,” she said all of a sudden. “I will send you an owl for the time and place of your detention.” She turned her back on him.  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” Ron mumbled. He scuffed his way down the aisle of desks to the door.  
  
*~*  
  
Ron found a deserted hallway and leaned heavily against the cold, stone wall, allowing the ancient chill to seep through his heated body. How long was Harry going to keep putting him—them—off? They had admitted their mutual attraction weeks ago, a revealing conversation in a pissed state at Christmas about girls and their romantic disasters led them to confess their mutual attraction to each other. But Harry had requested, for some unexplained reason, that they delay any sort of physical manifestation of their blooming—whatever. Ron had been floating on giddy, euphoric anticipation, despite Harry’s request to not do anything; Ron hadn’t believed a word of it. Briefly grasped hands, quick one-armed hugs about the shoulders, stolen squeezes over Quidditch moves, and that one bloody fabulous kiss in the wee morning hours not just several days ago—Harry had accepted them all, warmly and then returned them. Even after the Ravenclaw match, Harry had given him a quick kiss on the cheek and a blindingly wicked smile. And then, nothing. A quick shower, after-match party in the Tower, and then, Harry was in bed, his own bed, sleeping deeply.  
  
Ron was beginning to wonder if his best mate was lying to him about how he felt. Was he just playing along so as not to hurt Ron’s feelings? Was Harry unsure about getting into a relationship with a boy? What guy their age didn’t want sex, or something that approximated it? He had been sure Harry would’ve caved by now. But he hadn’t. And Ron was at a loss to explain it.  
  
The cold of the stone wall and the clattering noise of a just-released class from somewhere up the hall motivated Ron to head back to Gryffindor Tower. He ran up the stairs to the seventh years’ dorm, poked his head in to see if the coast was clear, and seeing that it was, he threw himself on his bed. He savagely beat his pillow, releasing the pent-up anger at Harry, the detention, McGonagall, himself, Harry’s rejection—Malfoy’s smirking face was good for a couple of particularly vicious punches. Having released some of his frustration, Ron rolled over and buried his head in the quilt.  
  
“When, Harry?” he moaned. Disappointment mingled with desire coursed through him. He needed--he wanted--Harry. He wanted him so much. Why was Harry doing this to him? To them? As he continued thinking of his best mate, examining in minute detail their one kiss, he became aware of his arousal. A few moments passed.  
  
“Bugger,” Ron muttered. “Harry, mate, you’d damn well better be worth the wait.” He rolled off the bed, found a reasonably clean towel, and headed to the shower.  
  
*~*  
  
“Minerva, I don’t understand,” Harry said, as walked through the door of Headmistress’s private quarters. “Not that I’m not pleased to see you.” He kissed her cheek. “But I seem to recall you telling me that you didn’t want to see me until the end of the term.” He removed his robes. “It’s only been a week.”  
  
“I’m well aware of that, Harry,” Minerva said, taking his robes and hanging them on the cloak rack. “But there is a matter of some concern and importance that has arisen since then.  
  
“I haven’t detected anything unusual from Voldemort since before Christmas hols,” Harry said, his forehead wrinkling in concentration. “I think my Occlumency is holding. I haven’t received any messages from Professor Lupin or Shacklebolt or….”  
  
“That is not what I mean,” she cut in. “Please sit.”  
  
Harry sat on the brocade loveseat and watched Minerva wave her wand gracefully over an empty spot on the low coffee table; a flowery china tea set appeared. She leaned over to pour him a cup of tea.   
  
“Harry,” she began, handing him the cup, “when I offered you the protection of Hogwarts after you came of age, what did you think that meant?”  
  
Startled, Harry choked on the hot tea, burning the roof of his mouth in the process. “Um…just what you said, that if me and you had…um, had sex that it would be like the blood protection Aunt Petunia had provided me when I was at her house.”  
  
“Well, yes, sex is part of it, of course,” Minerva said briskly, smoothing the folds from the black gown she wore. Harry noticed that she was wearing not just her typical black frock, but one in a soft, floaty sort of fabric that clung to her womanly curves. He had to stop himself from putting the cup down to touch her, and focused on what she was saying. “But really, what is important is affection and love—“  
  
“Because it’s something that the Dark Lord knows not,” Harry finished. “I know.” He did put down his tea and scooted closer to her. “What are you telling me?”  
  
“That this is only temporary. Once you find someone you love, you can be married to that person, and they will afford you the protection you need,” she said, cupping his cheek with her hand. “All that’s required is love.”   
  
Harry contemplated her words, carefully examining his feelings. What was she telling him, that she didn’t love him, or was she giving him permission to seek a lover? But her next statement surprised him even more.  
  
“I believe you have already found that love. Have you not felt the weakening in the bond protection with me?” she asked gently.  
  
His eyes grew wide. “No. I mean, well, yes, but that’s why I kept coming to you, hoping that if we were together more that would help reinforce our bond.”  
  
“I thought so. Not that this presents a problem. You are well protected, even if the spells that bind you to Hogwarts are not as strong as the blood magic your mother originally placed in you. But once you find your soul mate, you will find a bond so strong that it will be unlike anything you have ever experienced, on so many different levels.”  
  
Harry thought for a moment, and asked quietly, his eyes averted, “Even if it’s with…with another boy?”  
  
“Of course. Love does not discriminate,” she replied.  
  
At that, Harry looked up at her. No condemnation, no surprise or shock or disgust registered on her care-worn face, her eyes enormous and bright blue without the practical square glasses that hid them from the rest of the world. “But what about you?”  
  
She gave a small laugh. “Me? Harry, I am not the future for you, in the long of it. I appreciate that you have accepted me and want to be with me, even beyond the seal of protection. But you cannot remain with me, nor do I wish it. I believe the time has come that you can consider leaving me and give yourself over to your chosen one.”  
  
“So you’re saying that I can be with someone else, even now?” he said slowly. “But because…he doesn’t consider Hogwarts home, per se, how would the protection work?”  
  
“Well, the…” A loud knocking interrupted. “Wait here,” she said swiftly.  
  
“Professor, I thought I was serving detention in the library, but Madam Pince said you wanted me to come here,” Ron said, as Minerva opened the door. “I don’t under—”  
  
“Come in, Ronald,” she said, stepping aside, to admit her Head Boy.  
  
Harry stood, and not knowing what else to do, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hullo, Ron.”  
  
“Harry!” Ron exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You didn’t get detention?” But then, the second part of Minerva’s punishment slammed into his brain, and his face clouded. “Oh, so that’s why he’s here.” He folded his arms across his chest.  
  
“Please, Ronald, do sit down. This is not a Mexican standoff,” Minerva said tartly. “Harry, please sit.” She sat next to Harry. “Now, I believe you two have some things to say to each other, and I am going to mediate.” Both boys turned and stared at her. “Nothing that is said in this room tonight goes further than this room.” They continued to stare at her. “Would you like for me to go first? Good, then I will.”  
  
She turned and faced him. “Ronald, when Harry came of age, the protection that was placed on him by his mother ended.” Her eyes softened. “No, a mother’s love endures forever, but the magic binding Harry to his aunt ceased to exist because as a man, his childhood home is no longer his. As you know for many years he has thought of Hogwarts as his home. And as there are many kinds of love and many kinds of places we can call home, I conceived of an idea that might offer Harry a similar kind of protection. So I offered him Hogwarts as a home and … and me as the love to protect him.”  
  
Ron’s eyes widened. “You mean you adopted Harry?”   
  
“Of course not. I cannot adopt Harry because he is no longer a child. No, I…I…” She looked down suddenly.  
  
“What Minerva did, Ron,” Harry cut in, “is that she offered to love me, to make her and Hogwarts my home.”  
  
The realization of what Harry and Minerva—Merlin’s beard! He called her Minerva!—was telling him dawned quickly in Ron’s mind. “You—you mean to say, that Min—I mean, Professor McGonagall took you as…as her…husband?  
  
“No!” Harry and Minerva exclaimed together. “We’re….”  
  
“We’ve only…”  
  
Both stopped, and laughed. Harry stared hard at Ron, steeling himself to say the words. “Minerva took me as a lover.”  
  
“But it is only temporary,” Minerva cut in hastily. “Until Harry finds someone to love him who will take him as a husband. Or, rather, a spouse. But it will not be me.”  
  
Ron continued to stare at them, trying hard to wrap him mind around a mental image of Harry shagging the Headmistress of Hogwarts. He winced. But it did explain some things. Still…where did that leave him, them? What about Christmas? And the glances and handholding and hugs and that kiss? Was Harry just dicking about with him? Taking him for a merry chase? The questions whirled about in Ron’s mind, and as they did, his panic and anger and dismay rose, until he couldn’t stand it and he--  
  
“So what about us, Harry?” Ron blurted out. He stood quickly, pacing in the small room, unable to contain his agitation. Sod McGonagall! He needed to know! “Were you lying to me about how you felt? I thought we were…going to…start, you know, something. I thought you felt the same way…I did about…you. What about me, Harry?” Despite it all Ron couldn’t help keep the desperate whinge out of his voice, and he hated himself for it. “That’s it. Fine. You want to be with her, that’s great. I understand,” he said suddenly, and made for the door.  
  
“Wait, Ron, no! It’s—it’s not like that,” Harry said, jumping up suddenly. His leg bumped into the coffee table and rattled the china. “Ow! No, look, I wasn’t sure about how it could work, but Minerva was getting ready to explain. Will you please stay?”  
  
Ron didn’t know what to make of it. To have walked into his professor’s private quarters expecting punishment and to find them telling him that they were lovers and that he just admitted that he had something other than a mere friendship with Harry to her--well, he was trying to process everything that had just transpired. And now Harry was looking at him with such desperation, with his hand warm and strong on his arm, Ron was at a loss to think or do. So, he sat heavily. Harry sat closely next to him, and took his hand.  
  
“Ronald,” Minerva began, “I believe that you and I can together give Harry the protection he needs in his quest against the Dark Lord. Yes, I represent Hogwarts, which is Harry’s physical home, but what he really needs is someone who loves him with all his heart. While I have great affection for him and he for me, we cannot be together. Were I a few decades younger I might consider a man like Harry most appealing as a mate. But I am an old woman. My needs are not as great as his, despite what he might say”—Harry had opened his mouth to protest. “However, I do believe the inclinations of his heart belong to you. Is that not a fair assessment?”  
  
“Except for the part about you being too old to be loved,” Harry said.  
  
Minerva laughed. “I did not say that, only that sexually I do not believe I can keep up.”  
  
“Nonsense,” Harry stated.  
  
Ron looked at the both of them in wonder. _I’m sitting here listening to my professor and my best mate talk about sex, sex that they have together. I have entered a circle of hell that no one has ever thought existed._  
  
“Ron.” He suddenly jolted back to reality when Harry said his name. “Ron, what do you think? Do you think you can maybe do this with us, just until everything gets worked out, until I finally get the chance to do in Voldemort?”  
  
“Do what?” Ron missed something essential.  
  
“Love me. Love me with Minerva.”  
  
Ron stared hard at Harry, then at…at Minerva. Harry was asking him to do one simple thing, something that he had already come to do and know—love him—love him to protect him and to give him whatever he needed to get him through the horrendous task that he had set for himself. And to do it with one person who could also get him through that task. This was definitely getting weird.  
  
“Ronald, I’m sorry that this is such a repulsive proposition to you,” Minerva said quietly.  
  
“No! No, it’s just that…” Ron said, trying to sort out his jumbled thoughts and feelings. “Well, Harry knows you as Minerva, and I can’t even bring myself to think of you beyond Professor McGonagall. I—I don’t know if I can just jump in the sack with you and Harry.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s quite what Minerva had in mind,” Harry said, bemused. “We can…we can do… things without violating the protective bond. It sounds like that it might even make the bond stronger because…because I have found love with…with my soul mate.” He took Ron’s hand. “Is that right?” he asked.  
  
“I believe that it is. For the time being, Ronald, we may have to share Harry,” Minerva said, taking Harry’s other hand.  
  
Ron was still trying to understand. “So you’re saying I can lo—love Harry and you can love him, too, and that will be even better? For Harry, I mean.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Despite the slightly weirded-out feeling he was experiencing, the knowledge that he could finally do…things with Harry overrode it. “Yeah, yeah I can do that. But,” Harry and Minerva both looked at him expectantly, “do I still have to serve detention?”  
  
Minerva laughed. “In a manner of speaking. I did say that part of your detention was to make peace with Harry, so to fulfill that, I expect you to take Harry some place private.”  
  
Ron’s face broke into a wide grin. “Best detention I’ve ever served.” He rose, pulling Harry up with him. “Come on.”  
  
“Wait,” Harry said. He turned to Minerva, still holding her hand. “This is okay?”  
  
“More than okay, my dear,” she said, squeezing his hand. “This is a much more pleasant destiny for you than the one you have set with the Dark Lord. And one he will never understand, not in a million years. That will most certainly be his downfall, to be defeated by someone loved so well and so thoroughly. And who loves so completely in return.” She kissed his cheek.  
  
“Thank you,” he said with quiet fervor, reluctantly letting go.  
  
“But,” she said, her practical side returning, “practice discretion. Sexual relations between students is not universally approved of. I will protect you and Ronald as much as I can.”  
  
Harry smiled at her, and let Ron lead him out of the headmistress’ quarters. They walked quickly down the deserted hallway towards the Tower. Harry was lagging just so behind him. “You all right?” Ron asked, slowing to his pace.  
  
“I think so,” he replied. “There’s a lot to take in.”  
  
“Tell me about it.”  
  
Harry looked at him, and suddenly burst into laughter. “I’ll bet. God, the look on your face when we told that we—”  
  
“You don’t have to say it.” Ron held up his hand. “It’s weird enough to think I have to share you with my headmistress.”  
  
“All in due time.”  
  
“Yeah, you may think she’s fun, but she’s still ‘old McGonagall’ to me.”  
  
“You’ll take that back.” Harry stopped short.  
  
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Ron said quickly. “I like Professor McGonagall. I always have. And I’m sure when I’ve had time to really think about what you two have told me, I’ll come to truly appreciate her and the sacrifices she’s made and is making on your behalf. Really.” He leaned in, and whispered, “And I’m sure that when I think about it, I’ll realize that your having sex with her is really hot. I mean, how many guys our age get to have sex with an older, experienced woman?”  
  
“Not many, Ron,” Harry smiled wickedly. “I have a few things to show you.”  
  
Ron blinked. “Um…you know things are a little different with two guys?”  
  
“Yeah, I sort of figured that.”  
  
“So I guess I have a few things to show you,” Ron whispered, pulling Harry along faster.  
  
They reached the Tower and nearly broke through the tunnel at a dead trot, racing through the common room without a word to anyone and up the stairs, two at a time. Ron reached out and flung the door open. Seamus looked up, startled.  
  
“Out, now,” Ron bellowed.  
  
“What the fuck?” Seamus scowled, standing. “It’s my room, too.”  
  
Ron stalked over and stood next to the shorter boy, his broad shoulders casting a shadow. “Out.”  
  
Seamus looked like for a moment that he might put up a fight, but then thought better of it when he contemplated Ron’s blazing eyes. He gathered up his books and parchment rolls, grabbed a dressing gown on his way towards the door. Harry thought he heard him muttering something about “fooking idiot” and maybe even “flaming arsehole,” but he decided it wasn’t important enough to take up with the boy who had just as hot a temper as Ron. Besides Harry had a much more important task to focus on at the moment, and the object of his task had just magically locked the door and was shucking his kit as fast as humanly possible.  
  
Harry didn’t know what to do first, but Ron made the decision for him. In a flash Harry was engulfed by warm, strong arms and equally warm, strong lips smothered his. He didn’t know how long the kiss went on, nor did he really give a damn because it was definitely something he didn’t want to stop for a very long time.  
  
But with all good things, it did end with a sigh and a nuzzle and a lick. Ron pushed them back onto the bed and struggled to close the curtains around them. A few comical moments later not only were the curtains closed, but his clothes had been dispensed with and Ron’s lips were back on his, and on his jaw and neck and chest, and were traveling south when Harry let out a long, satisfied sigh.  
  
At that Ron had to smile. “Yeah?” He quirked an eyebrow.  
  
“Nothing,” Harry said, and then stopped. “No, yeah, it’s something.” Ron, never one to be patient, held his tongue as Harry gathered the words. “I really thought we weren’t ever going to get to do this. I though—I thought I had lost you there for a while.”  
  
“Nah, ‘s just me blowing off steam, you know,” Ron shrugged. “Took me long enough to decide how I felt, and then to tell you. I figured I could wait a while longer. You’ve got an awful lot on your mind, you know.”  
  
“Yeah, trying to figure all this stuff out,” Harry said. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I had to lie to you about…about where I was going and who I was with. I hated that. I hated not telling you.”  
  
”’s all right.” And he licked Harry from root to stem, causing the other boy to shudder. “But now that it’s out in the open,” he licked the sensitive head, “never lie to me again.” With that, he swallowed Harry wholly.  
  
“Never again,” Harry strangled.   
  
*~*  
  
In her tower room behind the office occupied by a thousand years’ worth of headmasters, Minerva McGonagall sighed, and dreamed of raven hair and freckled skin, of smiles and entwined fingers, of love and of a peace-filled world. She was, after all, a practical woman.

 

end 


End file.
